By all accounts it was a beautiful day in Central Park. The sun was shining, the birds were singing and the park's flowers bloomed bravely against the summer heat.

But for whatever reason - lying there unconscious on a wooden park bench, one shoe missing and a muggle newspaper spread across her torso as a makeshift blanket - our heroine looked out of place in the picturesque scene.

Another half hour of peaceful snores went by before Pip Bones woke with a start. She squinted at the cloudless sky overhead and groaned. 'Not again...'

Collapsing back against the seat and pulling the newspaper over her face, she weighed the pros and cons of staying there forever and wasting away into the foliage.

PRO: If I don't move, I won't have to deal with another human being ever again.

PRO: If I don't move, I won't have to go to work.

So far the arguments were overwhelmingly in favour of never moving.

CON: If I don't show up to work Murray will be pissed.

DOUBLE CON: He'll probably fire me this time.

TRIPLE CON: If he fires me, I might actually have to live on this bench. What with the dreaded cycle that is New York rent…

With a long-suffering sigh, Pip swung herself off from the seat. She landed in a crash of tangled limbs on the ground.

In the space of five minutes she staggered to a secluded spot in the park – scaring a bunch of elementary school children on the way there – and apparated to the foot of the New York skyscraper that Spellbound Magazine called headquarters. Only a crumbling stone wand carved above the door distinguished it from the rows of identical buildings lining the street.

Murray was not happy. 'Well look who bothered to finally show up!'

'Murray,' Pip nodded. She made a beeline for the break room, where the sweet, sweet reprieve of stale coffee waited. And if she was lucky, the office's forgotten stash of firewhiskey from New Year's Eve.

'Hold it, Bones!' Murray commanded. She froze like a criminal caught in the spotlight. 'It's eleven. And you look like shit,' he added matter-o-factly.

Pip glanced down at herself. She hoped the off-yellow stain decorating her pants was her own puke and not somebody else's. 'Big Sunday night?' she said sheepishly.

'Bones, it's Wednesday.' Before she could protest, Murray continued. 'Look, I'm your boss, not your father. You're an adult, Bones. And if you don't pull it together, the people upstairs,' – here he pointed to the floor above where the omnipotent gods/executive board of Spellbound Magazine presided over their kingdom – 'are going to do something about it. I can't stick my neck out for you anymore.'

Pip got the impression he'd been sitting on that little speech for a while. Not for the first time, she felt a pang of pity for the Head of Music. 'Don't worry about it, Murray, I'm on top of it.'

'Yeah, yeah,' he waved her off. 'Just get that piece on the Weird Sisters US tour on my desk by this afternoon. We need it for the next edition.' Pip resumed her quest for caffeine when Murray called out again. 'And you've got a visitor. Break room.'

So she did. Leaning there against the time-beaten counter was a tall wizard with long, shockingly red hair. He was leafing through an old edition of Spellbound but dropped it when he heard the door bang open. The pair locked eyes and a second passed.

'What the fuck are you doing here?' Pip asked incredulously.

He laughed - a warm, familiar laugh she hadn't heard in years. 'Good to see you too, Pip.'

She embraced him in a hug and repeated the question. 'No, seriously, Bill. What the fuck are you doing here?'

Drawing back to survey her, his demeanour suddenly became solemn. 'Something's happened. We're at war. He's back, Pip.'